Connections
by embracetheweird16
Summary: "We're all connected-really. All veins and arteries of one big body. Some of us just don't know it yet."
1. Chapter 1

**Okay guys, so this begins with two characters from a few years ahead of the show, one is a Mikealson and the other is a Bennett. These two orphans have been trudged through a sawmill of dirt trying to get to their family only to find that they've been destroyed-so, why not save them? Why not rescue your only family, especially when the goddamn _balance_ depends on it. **

**It's a bumpy ride folks-_enjoy_ it. **

* * *

><p>Rain's falling, patting against the umbrella and roof tops scattered about the city. The streets washed by the clean heavenly water, cleaning it of filth-of sin. Of all nastiness of New Orleans and the petty supernatural; that was how she'd once seen it all at one time in her life. Now, in her jaded adulthood she had no time for such silly thoughts. She hadn't time for many things. Lifting the collar of her leather jacket she hugged it close to her body. The sound of her high heels clicking against the wet pavement, careful not to slip or slide. Under the hood of her long eyelashes she peered forward at her destination-Madame Laveau spice and herbal medicine shop. Why was it always a damned spice shop? Perhaps there was something about witches and those things but for once she'd like a candle shop or something-just once. Chewing her lower lip she pushed the door open and entered the shop.<p>

"Hello, cher." A sensual Cajun voice purred at her. Smiling in recognition, she ran her fingers through her hair and licked her pink lips.

"Good day, darlin'-are you ready?" She responds, brown eyes going over the woman who spoke to her. A tall willowy blonde twenty-something year old with big blue eyes and a charming smirk. This woman, you can tell, from just being near her is powerful. She reeks of it-and whiskey. They don't use their real names anymore-it's far too risky so they use the names they've stolen from dead loved ones. Loved ones who weren't supposed to die-who's deaths have rocked worlds and upset balances.

The blonde woman, who was sitting on-top of the glass countertop of the shop, jumps down and crossed her slender arms beneath her perky chest. "As I'll ever be, Cher."

Grinning, the brown eyes woman cocks her chin up, placing her hands on her hips-displaying her taut figure. "Well then let's get started, sweetheart."

* * *

><p>Her head hits the back of the leather seat of her companion's car. The radio plays a random pop song she's never heard before and hates it already; what had music gone to in the almost half a year she was away? Little over six months and now this was what the stations pushed-geez. Thank god she was saved before it went further to hell. The young woman chuckled-that was a pun, seeing as she was in hell.<p>

"What are you laughing at?"

She stops laughing and her lips are in a tight line. But her jade eyes are still shining with amusement. Secretly she doesn't want him to see it but he does-he just doesn't let her know he does.

"Nothing."

His eyebrows are raised, his startling blue eyes bore into her and she's unshaken by it. He should know by now he can't move her. Nodding, utterly unconvinced, he tosses a bag of snacks and water bottles to her and sits in the driver seat. The male is handsome, well-built, full dark hair and a commanding swagger. Today is the third day they've been on the road together; and he wears to same goddamn thing everyday-black, white t-shirts or dark shades of blue. Don't get her wrong-he's still insanely attractive in it but she wants to take all his clothes and burn them now. She wonder what he'd look like in a bright blue denim shirt and khakis.

Tapping a manicured finger to her cherry painted lips, she wonders what spell to use to get rid of his clothes.

Does she burn them?

Or does she just make them disappear in a puff?

Decisions, decisions.

"Don't go crazy on me now, witchy. We haven't even gotten near to Louisiana yet, and Lucy will shit bricks if I take you to her insane." He grumbles turning the ignition of his precious car; rebuilt by his brother while he was away. The old classic was given nothing but love afterwards.

The nineteen year old smirked and shook her head. "Trust me. It's too late for me to be anything but insane."

The dark haired male laughed, knowing it was the truth, reversing out of the drive way. "Well then let's get going, Judgy."

They eventually arrive in New Orleans; Louisiana, the vampire is now grumpy and hungry complaining if not being able to feed in hours and blaming her. She doesn't really care because for some odd reason she's excited to see her only living relative again (her mother doesn't count). In fact she's excited because maybe-just maybe she might live to be twenty-one and take her first legal sip of beer. This city of jazz and rich Creole French culture might just be her saving grace. Despite the small sting of betrayal she feels for feeling this way away from the people who say they love her and who've been with her for every grand moment in her life. This all feels right and nothing has felt right for her in a long time, and her companion has a small part in playing into what feels right for her right now.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

"So this is the place." The male states, arm over her seat and leaning over her so that he could see the French style colonial house of her cousin. Thoroughly invading her personal space (which, knowing him was probably on purpose). She tries not to inhale him, because he still smells good and she hadn't eaten in a few hours so she may get dizzy.

Sighing, but smiling she admits that yes this is the place.

"Fancy." He comments, killing the engine. "Who knew your cousin could afford these kind of gigs."

"It's a Bennett house, chances are she couldn't anyway." Her cousin owned a little grocery store over the river of the French Quarter, a good distance from the house which strange. Why would she have her business so far away? Wouldn't it be easier to have it in the same community you lived in? But she stays silent and lets Damon open her door for her instead of talking.

"Wonder if she'll mind me showing up?" He questioned as if concerned but his face read nothing amusement and mild anticipation, Bonnie rolled her eyes. The vampire could not be any more predictable.

"I'm sure she won't, I mean her experiences with vampires have been all sunshine and dandelions."

He smirks and chuckles. "I'm sure you're right Bon-Bon."

He gets their bags, refusing to let her hold her own (even the one with her toiletries and underwear alone). He's been overly gentlemanly and nice to her and it's annoying because their banter isn't the same if he just cuddles her the next minute.

Damon has changed just a little.

Then again they both have.

* * *

><p>His brushes are lined next to his pallet, the oil tubes in the little wooden box, color coded and it's all set and ready for him to begin. The canvas stares back at him-waiting to be something. Waiting for whatever masterpiece his warp mind creates. He waits with it, unsure of what he really wants to paint-of what he really wants at all. Picking up the paint brush, the immortal twirls it between his fingers. He pictures his mother's face when she nurtured him as a child. He pictures her as she was once was to him-then he remembers it was all a lie. That she weakened him on purpose-she made him stay with a father who abused him made him into a paranoid sociopath. The stick breaks and he doesn't notice until the tiny splinters tickle his flesh.<p>

He was king-the alpha male of the French Quarter.

But what was a king without a kingdom? His father ran wild and rampant; Esther his sweet mother-

"Klaus," a voice rings and Klaus doesn't turn to face it, instead he focuses on the feel of his skin heal slowly from the broken up pieces of wood.

"We have a problem."

They usually did.

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><p>They're naked in more ways than one, bare as they laid on the lush grass of the bayou-holding hands and haphazardly breathing. Their thoughts are exposed-every dirty secret and dark desire. But they are sure she's seen worst. At least she is, because if there is at least one thing Shelia's learned is that people who lived to a certain age know things. Terrible things.<p>

"Stop flinching ma cheré." Soothes the Cajun voice of her best friend who's almost serene despite her overwhelming fear. Her blue eyes are open staring at the willow leaves, long blonde hair over her perky breasts the curves and slops of her slender figure blessing the ground with her essence-her pure natural beauty. Her best friend known as Marcela now, doesn't flinch or cringe as the witch they begged craves into their stomach. Marie Laveau is an artist of her craft, because they both (or at least she should be) should be doubling over in pain.

Licking her lips, the younger woman turned away from Marcela. Her head was spinning and she felt sick; and the spell hadn't even started yet. This all seemed to be a bad idea now, saving a bunch of people who they never met to begin with all because some high shaman told them too (which is a whole other story for a whole other time).

The names where engraved in her mind-her lost family. If it hadn't been for this lost, for the hand of a fellow orphan in her own-she may have gone insane. The old witch, having finished craving into their skins, begins to sing-in creole French mixing it with Latin. It feels like what she imagines death to feel like at first-light and for once she feels weightless and carefree then it all begins to morph and twist she feels stretched out and her skin aches-burning up.

Then there was nothing.

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><p>"So, you're telling me that they just showed up-naked in the middle of the quarter, unconscious with these marks on their skin?" The hybrid questions, arms crossed and brows furrowed trying to understand what the heck was going on in his city. Holding in one hand, a sketch of the markings.<p>

"That's what Haley says." His older brother answers, eyeing with wariness and exhaustion the two girls-who's hands are laced tightly together-even when they were dressed laid on the bed of one of the many rooms of their home. They both appeared to be young, one in her late teens and the other early twenties. The younger one had light mocha skin, an offset jaw and short dark curly hair. The older one had blonde hair, willowy and tanned olive skin. What was strange-besides them showing up in the middle of nowhere naked-was that they felt familiar, and Klaus felt like he knew each of them; especially the blonde one.

Which was strange and if it was strange chances are that the witches had something to do with which meant nothing good for him.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell is he doing here?" Lucy Bennett asks with a little more than mild irritation.

The _he_ in question is smirking, as if proud with himself to have her hold him in such distaste but Bonnie knows it's because he just doesn't care what her cousin thinks.

"He's my ride."

Damon rolls his eyes, as if he deserved a better explanation. He probably does just not from her.

"And your new roommate, Cousin Bennett."

"What-"

Bonnie interrupts before her cousin and roast him or worst. "He's okay, Lucy. Trust me." Although past experiences and common sense should tell her not to vouch for any vampire, especially Damon but as of late he's been the most loyal friend she's had. He's been the one trying to get her back, he's been the one trying to preserve her magic. He never forgot about her-not even for a second and that's what makes her do this, that's why she's putting her neck on the line for him because he's been the only one treating her with worth as of late. So she forgets about the past and common sense, and vouches for him.

"He's _okay_."

Because honestly for once in his life, to both him and her-he is.

However Lucy doesn't believe, even for a second either of them that a Salvatore is okay. But she believes Bonnie, because she's family and because if Bonnie gives up on her friends and moves to Louisiana of all places then something must have made her because Bonnie isn't stupid (or so she'd like to believe) and it's because of this that Lucy trusts her and invites the vampire inside the Bennett home that technically belongs to both Bonnie and her, so her cousin could have invited the vampire in herself. But she allows Lucy to do it, which isn't lost on the older Bennett.

"So roomies," as he stressed the word Bonnie saw her cousin'a left eye twitch and almost laughed. "Mind showing me where the bedroom is? Or do we pull straws?" Damon questions with wiggling eyebrows. "Or will me and Judgy be sharing, not that I mind."

Bonnie smiles a little at the last part, for the better part of four months they did share a room, not much touching but they did and neither questioned it. It was a coping mechanism that allowed them some piece of mind and reminded them that they were not alone.

"Of course my cousin won't share a room with you corpse." Lucy chides shaking her head and folding her arms over her chest. She jerks her chin to the eastern part of the house.

"-bedrooms are to the east, upstairs after you past the drying room, you'll smell the herbs and you'll know." She leaves out the part that the place is enchanted and that all Bennetts just know where it all is, a test, to see how much of Bonnie is there because with Bonnie being the life and death yoyo of her best friends; logic leaves nothing but the very strong likelihood of her not being totally her.

"Cool." Bonnie says going west, Damon on her heels, whistling.

Lucy smiles, hands in her pockets, maybe she was _wrong_.

* * *

><p>The younger woman becomes aware of the soft cotton sheets first, then the raging pain in the back of her skull. Bile rushes to her throat but she pushes it back down. She isn't sure what the physical side effects of time traveling are, but her body is in havoc. Her magic is still there pumping through her veins integrated with her blood cells however, she can't move her fingers and conduct a spell as she usually would. There would be no orchestra of magic from her anytime soon.<p>

Her body yearned for movement, she refused to, because even with her body haywire she knew she was not alone in the room and would not wake to find out who her guest was. Instead she listened, focusing her magic on what was around (whilst trying not to pass out again or vomit).

"I know you're up." The voice said, businesslike and strangely soothing-_Elijah_, it had to be him. She knew that voice and had she heard it in a different place she may have jumped for joy-but for once it inspired fear. Shelia gripped the hand of her fellow orphan tighter.

"Please, must we play this game of silence? I would much rather like to start this day fresh, and bloodless-for now."

She bit her tongue hard, refusing to say a word because she might just cry-because he was alive.

"Good morning to you too vampire." It isn't her voice who says this but the slow drawl of _Marcela_, the way she says it makes _Shelia_ almost want to whisper their real name and tell him of their purpose, for if anyone will understand it would be Elijah. Her body is stiff as Marcela slithers off the bed, releasing her hand from her's.

Shelia is unsure of this move.

And she hates to be unsure.

"Can we talk outside, so you can't wake up my cheré?"

She pictures Elijah furrowing his brows and glancing from her to _Marcela_, knowing full well that she was awake but deciding whether to play along or not. He's probably smiling, that false kind gentlemanly smile before deciding;

"Yes, let's."

And so the relatives exited the room leaving her alone—she lets out a sigh she doesn't know she had kept in.

The house is the same, classic and coldly colonial. She feels the same spirits she did as before-the paintings on the walls are also the same—some have changed, gone are the childhood portraits and here stand some of the first hybrids musings. She sees the twisted beneath it. The soul and heart, she sees it all.

Then she sees him.

For the first time she really sees him not in corpse form, without a dagger in his heart. Cheeks filled with another's blood, hair combed back and moving so regally in his Hugo Boss. This was how she remembered him. But that was not how he was in current time-their time. Right now he was a knight of the New Orleans court of his hybrid brother, noble and self-righteous in his battle to regain full control of the city.

The world was right in this time.

"So tell me, what are you and your companion's purpose in our city."

It takes almost everything she has not to do something out of the way-like cry or leap for joy. Somehow, she doesn't, instead she stands stiffly, chin up and stares him right in his brown eyes that assessed her coldly.

(A coldness that bothered her)

"To save it before it burns."

To this, he smirks, genuinely amused.

::::::::::::::

Bonnie eyes herself in the mirror, she seems healthy, well rested and fed. Her collar bone no longer sticks out as if it's trying to break through her skin (which glows now, the mocha color rich and bright). It's amusing and sad at the same time to say she looks better coming from hell than she does when she was in Mystic Falls–alive and supposedly happy with people she's grown up with and loves. (And who were supposed to love her as well)

This discovery is something she doesn't know what to say about. So she gets dressed quickly, choosing not to say anything, donning a pair of jeans that stop above her knees and a loose band shirt that Elena had bought her some Christmases ago.

Biting her lower lip, she thinks that maybe she shouldn't wear the shirt.

"Nice t-shirt Bon-Bon." Damon comments, coming out of the adjoining bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his room has a bathroom but he uses her own much to her dismay. Narrowing her eyes at him, Bonnie hopes he knows that if she finds water splashed on the floor she'll use him to mop it up.

"Couldn't you use your own bathroom?"

He smirks. "I could."

Huffing, Bonnie rolls her eyes and ties up her short hair, turning away from him as he gets dressed at human pace. "You dress as long as a woman does."

"Sweetie, my body is the perfect gift that needs to be wrapped just right."

She snorts, tempted to ask who's going to unwrap him since they both know he won't leave the house tonight, but the Bennett witch doesn't. "You know there's a reason there are so many rooms in this house, Salvatore."

"Probably, but it's not like I'll be staying in New Orleans forever. Just long enough for you to be settled witchy."

"Then you should have left after I packed."

Damon raises an eyebrow and looks at her with his blue eyes. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you don't want me here."

"Well..."

"Trust me you do. You need me here." Then he plops down on her bed, taking the remote and switches the station. Wondering if it's him or her that needs to be there. The answer is unclear.

"Wanna watch _Arrow_?"

She lays down beside him, having missed her favorite television show.

And maybe just a little-him.

:::::::::::::::

He's in his art room again. Amidst canvases and pallets. There's no music playing, in his head nor in the room. There is so much things at the tip of his fingers-they are pink as if aglow with potential. A few hours ago two girls showed up in the middle of his town. Klaus wonders why he didn't just kill them and dispose of any possible threat (he wonders that a lot these days).

He sees, through his charcoal pencil, the youngest one. He sees curls of night—a delicate Cupid's bow and long eye lashes. There's something hauntingly familiar and beautiful about her; and dangerous.

The other girl is at the background of his mind. Pushed back with all his efforts, because she actually scares him because she isn't just familiar but it's like he knows her. He's held her-even loved her.

It's a freaky déjà vu.

Those girls are stuffed back down as he quickly recalls that his life is on a thread-that his parents are alive and unlike most children who've lost parents, he insists upon the remaining of his own in the ground—or the deeps of hades.

Whichever one, he doesn't really care.

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><p><strong>Second chapter-yay!<strong>

**Leave a comment please. I'd like to know what you guys think. :)**


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